At what point in our life does enough become enough? Where our level of satisfaction becomes filled to its capacity and we no longer yearn to be surrounded by bullshit. A sense of content that is happy to spend time alone and enjoy the space of freedom. Freedom of judgment, freedom of embarrassment & the freedom to do as you please.
As I sit and ponder my life these past few months, alone in a local coffee shop at 9:11 on a random Wednesday morning, I can’t help but think about how this moment would feel just a year ago. Embarrassed to be seen eating and drinking coffee alone in the corner. Vulnerability and anxiety would hit me over and over the head because of how I thought I looked in the public eye. My awkward social anxiety creating a space in my head for doubt and despair. I’d feel desperate. I’d never do it again.
Look at me now, fucking OVER it. I don’t think it’s a bad thing either. I think this is starting to define me in a way that is severely cautious of my time, my most valuable possession. I don’t want it wasted on anything less than a nourishing moment, whether it be with a group of people, in the comfort of my own home, or alone in a coffee shop, taking a moment for me. Something I always wanted to be able to do but was never forced to face.
When I decided to start working midnights I knew my life would be different. I expected that my body would react differently. I expected having to sacrifice my sleep for more time with my family. I expected being tired from a lack a sleep, never expecting to finally be tired of the excess baggage that I’d been holding onto for comfort. No doubt, I’ve done some growing over the years but the reality that this schedule has given me has forced me to be in the moment, something that haunted me with fear for my entire life. I can say that the effects of my PTSD have created my social anxiety but the fact is it’s been an issue since I was a child, a trait that I now see in my 13 year old son. It’s frightening but I see it, I’m recognizing it and now I’m ready to put it in my past.
As this decade comes to an end so does an era of social embarrassment. The angst and disgust of growing older and feeling it. The need to go out just because I’m bored. The thought that I need to be seen and the idea that I need to look perfect while doing it. The desire to be liked & approachable and the guilt of having neither. I want to be comfortable being uncomfortable in a crowded room knowing when the moment isn’t nourishing my soul, saying “I’m going home,” without the fear of looking like the adult in the room. That’s what the fuck I am. A 32 year old wife and mother of two, who enjoys going to church on Sunday, cleaning the fuck out my home on my days off, going to the gym without a partner to distract me, & drinking on a random Thursday morning at 10 am because I can. It’s not about being in the scene or having a ton of followers, it’s about following my own path, creating my own way, and nourishing my own soul with what fills it with happiness.
As I sip the end of my second cup of Mexican Mocha (sans cayenne pepper) and get ready to fold my white clothes waiting for my arrival at home, I remind you of who I was. I was hungry. But now, I’m TIRED.
Peace & Love,
XO